Management
by Dobby's Socks
Summary: Annalise leaves Clive, Tish wants him and Francine to talk, Leo doesn't want to put up with any of it, they all want Martha to do something about it, but Mickey just wants Martha to let go. Set post-JE but before their bit in TEoT, is compliant with my other fic "How Martha Went to Donna's Wedding", rated for mild innuendo, Martha/Mickey


**Ok, so bit random, but I've always found the Jones family dynamic to be rather intriguing and yet underplayed, like most of Martha's tenure. And adding Mickey to the mix is always fun. This could sort of be seen as compliant with my other Martha/Mickey story "How Martha Went to Donna's Wedding (and Mickey Finally Proposed), with this occurring after. I'm going to make stories filling in the Martha/Mickey relationship cool, guys, I really am. Help me out by giving this a read, and please enjoy!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Management**

She left Mickey in the huge, quiet kitchen to start a pot of tea and found her father upstairs, sitting on the large bed with his head in his hands. The enormous walk-in closet, several dresser drawers, and most of the en suite had been emptied of items and the lights were off, giving the whole room a hollow feel even if it was still plush.

(Dad had always been the cool one when she and her siblings were young, always willing to take them out for ice cream or to splurge for Christmas and birthdays. When he'd left, he'd taken his money with him, because mum was too proud to accept any favors and she taught Martha to be the same.

She'd felt small and weak and ashamed the day she'd stopped by to ask for help paying for med school, and so had missed the happy desperation in his eyes as he wrote the check.)

Martha cleared her throat and Clive Jones gave a start.

"Hey," he tried for a grin, stubble overgrown by a couple days and a redness to his eyes. "Didn't hear you."

She raised an eyebrow and held up her house key. "Let myself in. Came as soon as you called."

"Yeah, yeah you did," he agreed softly with a wan smile. "You shouldn't have, you and Mickey've got places to be I'm sure—"

"It's okay to want company," she offered, walking fully in the room and stopping in front of him. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

Her father gave what could just pass as a manly sniff and nodded. "Guess not."

She nodded once to herself and then sat next to him, placing one hand on his back and slowly beginning to rub circles against it.

(She'd spent countless scary nights the first few months after the divorce sitting up with her mum, rubbing soothing circles just like this in her back as the woman had cried and screamed into her pillow.

Leo had been young enough to just stay in his room when she'd told him to, and Tish hadn't wanted to hear.)

"What happened?"

"I don't know," he sighed wearily. "I don't know. We haven't been going out as much, haven't been getting on as well. She called me old and fat. Said I haven't been the same since that bloody Year." Martha winced and squeezed his shoulder in comfort. Her father leaned into her half-embrace.

"That's not your fault. Not really her fault either, she couldn't know. And nobody could be expected to be the same after all that."

He snorted somewhat bitterly. "That's true. But it was always so easy to keep Annalise happy. Not like your mother. Sorry," he added absently, but still continued. "She always let me know what she wanted. I guess now she doesn't want fat old me anymore."

"Come on," she encouraged, for lack of anything better to say, "let's get you downstairs. I asked Mickey to fix you up something."

Her father let her lead him back down to the kitchen where her fiancée was just setting down a plate of eggs and toast with an accompanying mug of tea.

"Good to see you, Mr. Jones," he greeted as nonchalantly as possible, clearly letting the other man decide if he wanted to open up about anything or not.

"Same to you, Mickey," he replied a bit gruffly as he shrugged out from under Martha's arm. She exchanged a look with Mickey before pulling out a stool for herself next to her father.

"Well, glad we're all happy to see each other, cause you've got us for the whole day if you want," she forced as much cheeriness into her voice as she could manage, and he looked up at her in surprise.

"What about your work?"

"Got nothing scheduled for today and I've turned off the work mobile. If there's any poltergeists haunting someone's house they'll have to hang about until tomorrow," she informed him.

"We can do with a break every once in a while," Mickey added with a shrug.

"Yeah, but I doubt you were wanting to spend that break with me," her father pointed out shrewdly as Mickey shifted from foot to foot but didn't reply. "Well, thanks."

"No problem," her fiancée said. He'd yet to take a seat for himself, and took a step or two away, looking at her in question. Clearly he'd taken her father's acknowledgement as a dismissal. She knew better.

So Martha shook her head minutely and waited patiently for a moment.

"Did I ever tell you how we met, Annalise and I? Francine hasn't got it right at all."

"Why don't you tell us, dad?" She volunteered with a smile that felt more of a grimace, as she saw Mickey sigh and take a seat across from them at the table.

("Oh, she was blonde? Oh, what a surprise!"

She'd been shocked by the harshness of her own tone, the bitterness that had welled up. Martha had never set out to hate blondes.

Oh, but she did.)

Three hours later, she'd settled her wearied and miserable dad into bed with a glass of water on the bedside table in case he should wake up thirsty, had run a load of dishes and a load of laundry, and was organizing the fridge to make it more navigable. Alright, she was arranging day by day meals for the man, but she doubted he'd bother by himself.

Mickey, bless him, didn't try to intervene until she started labeling them with the weekdays and heating instructions. "Isn't that a bit overkill? He's not a kid."

But she just glanced up at him sadly. "He is, though. He's a big kid. That's one of the kinder things mum's ever had to say about him, anyway."

"Yeah, well, Francine could stand to be a bit less grownup sometimes, if you don't mind me saying."

She smirked as she continued writing. "No objections here."

Another minute passed and he sighed. "Martha—"

"Just let me finish up, Mickey, and then I promise I'm yours. The rest of the day," she looked up at him earnestly once more and held his gaze for a minute.

He barely lasted half of that time before his frown morphed to a smile. "Oh, alright. Can't have the old man starve to death, can we?"

"No we can't," she agreed with a grin, finishing the last label with a flourish and placing everything back in the fridge. "All done," she announced needlessly, and came around the table to peck him on the lips.

"Efficient, you are. My beautiful woman," he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close.

"Mickey, not here," she chided with a laugh. No need to rub salt into Clive Jones' wounds, after all.

"Great, you're thinking what I'm thinking," he retorted with just the slightest of eyebrow waggles, stepping back to take her hand and lead her out of the house.

"Aren't I always?" She returned as they stepped out into the sun.

He smiled at her, but it dropped from his face at the ringing of a phone. "I thought you said—"

"It's my other mobile," she explained, digging it out of her pocket and checking the caller ID. "It's Tish," she added apologetically and flipped it open.

"Funny, could swear that _is_ your work mobile," Mickey muttered with an eye roll, which she chose not to comment on.

"Hey, Tish."

"Hey, so mum knows about dad being dumped."

"What?" Martha exclaimed in some dismay. She'd been planning to break the news to her mother a bit more gently than that!

"Well it didn't seem right not to tell her," her sister defended, and she could just picture the accompanying shrug. "And it was only a matter of time before that tart left dad. No big shocker there."

"He was pretty shocked," she countered in measured tones as she climbed into the car and Mickey started the engine.

"Don't know what he ever saw in her over mum."

(She and Tish had used to take turns doing each other's hair some nights in Tish's new room. It was bigger than Martha's and had a mirror. They'd talk about anything and everything, and once while twisting braids into Tish's hair she'd asked her sister if she thought dad was ever going to join them in the new house.

"Sure he is. He and mum just had a fight is all. They'll make up."

Sometimes Martha suspected her sister still felt the same.)

"Anyway, would you mind popping over to visit her? She hung up a bit after I called her and it's nearing the end of my lunch hour."

Martha sighed and rubbed at her temples. "Yeah, alright, I can check on mum," she replied, but directed the words at Mickey, who mouthed an incredulous 'What?' back at her. She did her best to pantomime to him what was going on while still carrying on the conversation. "Where are you working now again?"

"The accounting firm, remember? I know it's not as exciting as fighting aliens," Tish half-grumbled, but sweetened as she added, "Thanks for doing this, though, you're a lifesaver."

"You mean by stopping the aliens or by saving you a trip to mum's?" She teased, and her sister laughed.

"Right, well, thanks for both. I bet she's fine, but I think she just doesn't know what to make of it. You can help her out, I'm sure of it."

"I'm not going to tell her how to feel about it," she cautioned, but then her phone beeped. "Hang on, Leo's ringing me, got to go."

"Oh, this just gets better," Mickey remarked under his breath with his eyes fixed on the road as she switched calls.

Martha reached out to place her free hand on his arm, but chickened out, instead speaking into the mobile. "Hey, Leo." She felt badly for not being able to muster hardly any enthusiasm for her baby brother.

(She'd checked Leo's homework for him all through school, sat in the stands for his every game even if she'd brought along a textbook to read, and nursed his every injury and illness.

Shonara had joked upon meeting her that Martha was looking well for being the mother of a nearly grown man.

Leo had laughed, but Martha had made him swear afterward that he would never tell Francine.)

"Just thought I'd tell you in advance, we're still doing the two parties for Keisha's fifth. One for mum and one for dad," Leo stated with no preamble, totally firm.

"Come off it, Leo, we can work something out," she tried to reason anyway, because that was what Martha did.

"Like my twenty-first?" He snorted. "I'm not letting them ruin my daughter's birthday, Martha."

"They might not," she protested halfheartedly. "They weren't always like this—before…"

"Don't give me that, we both know mum and dad can't keep from bickering."

"Okay, fine. But I can't make both parties."

"I'm not asking you to," he responded, nonplussed.

"No, but then it looks like I'm choosing sides!" She'd always been so careful over the years; Martha Jones, the family manager, mediator, and peacekeeper. "Mickey and I can only set aside time for one party, we can't do both what with work."

"Mickey can't do without you the other day?"

"Absolutely not," she said in a tone that brokered no argument. Mickey himself looked at her curiously, but she shook her head indicating it wasn't something worth discussing, much less disputing. There was no way she was letting him consult on some extraterrestrial or otherwise unusual matter only for it to spiral out of control without her at his side to help.

"Well, then I don't know what to tell you. Sure, mum and dad will probably think you're choosing sides, but they think the rest of us have already anyway." She heard her niece's excited chatter on the other end of the line, slightly muffled. "Look, I'll see you," Leo said distractedly.

"Yeah, see you." She hung up just in time for Mickey to shut off the engine, and she looked up to see that he had in fact dutifully driven to her mother's house. She offered a smile of gratitude which he returned slightly strained. Martha sighed once more. "You don't have to stick around. Seriously, just head home and relax, I'll have mum bring me back later."

But Mickey shook his head. "I'm spending my day off with you."

That made her smile all over again, even as she said, "I don't think I really deserve you, Mister."

"Yeah, well you definitely don't deserve all of this," he gestured to her phone and then the house, doing his best to encompass their Jones family filled day. She ducked her head and didn't reply, turning to open the car door. But Mickey reached over and took her other hand. "Look, Martha, I get it, I really do. I was the same way in the parallel world when I found my Gran. I couldn't leave her alone for months, always making sure she was comfortable and had everything she needed or wanted, arranging things to make it easier for her. Hovering."

"I don't hover," she argued, though she didn't even believe it. "I don't try to hover," she amended under his calm yet nonjudgmental stare.

(She'd once tried the exact opposite. The Doctor had seemed attractive. Traveling had seemed attractive. The universe had seemed attractive.

But all of this hadn't even been her primary motivation. Martha had watched her parents rage and storm away from each other despite their children's best efforts for the umpteenth time and thought, "I'd rather be anywhere but here. Please."

In the end, how could she have refused such timely temptation?)

"Right, well, I kept on doing that until finally, you know what my Gran did?"

"What?"

"She whacked me over the head with her cane and told me to stop treating her like she couldn't take care of herself. Like she was stupid. Like she constantly needed my help," he recounted with a wry smile, and she had to wonder once more at what sort of woman his Gran had been.

"They need my help," she couldn't help pointing out, even if it sounded a bit stubborn.

"Probably, yeah, and I know they think so. And right now, they're fine with that. But someday, they'll resent it. Even if you're just trying to help, they'll resent you for it. I don't want anybody to feel that way toward you," he told her, letting her hand go in order to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. He then placed his hand to her cheek and she leaned into it.

"So you're saying I should help them now by not helping them?" She quirked an eyebrow at him as he frowned good-naturedly at her slightly dubious summary.

"I'm saying you should let them do things for themselves so you can do things for _yourself_. I don't see any of them getting in line to manage your life, and I don't think you'd want them to. So don't do it to them, or for them. They're not your job."

(Martha discovered at an early age that there were some things that couldn't be fixed, no matter how hard you tried, or wanted it, or really understood.

So she studied and practiced and learned all there was to know about what could be.)

She closed her eyes for a moment, simply letting herself think, Mickey's presence warm and keenly felt. Finally, she nodded and pulled back, settling against the car seat. "Ok. Take us home."

"Er, you mean our flat or here—"

"Don't make me change my mind," she swatted his arm with a grin and a roll of her eyes, and caught a glimpse of his triumphant smile as he restarted the car and pulled away from her mother's curb.

Once home, Martha made a number of calls. None of the people she called answered, and so she left four voicemails instead.

"Hey Leo, it's Martha. Mickey and I are looking really busy these next few weeks, so if you could let me know when you're having Keisha's party, that'd be really great. Course, if we can't make it, you could always come pick up her present. I'll leave a key under the doormat.

"Hey Tish, Martha here. Afraid I didn't get the chance to stop off at mum's. Probably for the best since I'm not really sure what you wanted me to do exactly. I think you ought to talk to her about it. Oh, and if dad calls, no I'm not coming over to make those meals for him, I know he can read.

"Dad, it's Martha. I just wanted to remind you about Keisha's birthday coming up. We should all let Leo and Shonara know when we're free so they can pick a day that works for everyone for the party. Hope you're feeling better!

"Hey mum, it's me. I know Tish called you about dad. If you want to talk, ring me tomorrow and we can figure out a good time. Otherwise, I think you need to set Leo straight on the 'two parties' thing. We're all adults. Talk to you soon."

With that done, she collapsed onto the couch next to her fiancée, who immediately wrapped his arms around her. "Not so bad, was it?" He checked.

"Not really, no," she admitted with a surprising amount of relief, turning from him briefly to press one final button on her phone. The power button. Dropping her shut-down mobile onto the coffee table, she instead looped her arms around his neck. "So then, Mister, I think I'll let you pick what we do next. Been having some pretty great ideas so far."

He grinned and leaned in for a kiss. "Something tells me you're going to like it. But hey, just let me know."

"Oh, that'll be no problem."

(She'd been walking along with Jack, away from the TARDIS, when they'd both turned at the sound of another voice.

"Hey, you two!"

And that was when someone she'd never had to manage, or be managed by, had run right up to her and into her life.)

**Ok, so kind of ended cute, yes? I've just found the whole Jones family interesting ever since "Smith and Jones", how they all sort of look to Martha to work everything out (especially after doing research and discovering she's the middle child, with Tish being the oldest). Her family's one of the reasons she stops traveling as well, so she clearly feels like she **_**has**_** to keep them all organized and well-taken care of. So Mickey just happened to agree with me that Martha should take a break every now and then and do things for herself.**

**Some minor style experimentation as well, which was fun to try my hand at. Let me know how it went. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


End file.
